


Destiny

by Magicofisis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Slytherin, The Quidditch Pitch: Slytherin Common Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-01
Updated: 2006-08-01
Packaged: 2018-10-27 18:26:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10814343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magicofisis/pseuds/Magicofisis
Summary: Draco ponders his time with Harry and describes what shouldn’t have been.





	Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Happy birthday to [](http://marksykins.livejournal.com/profile)[**marksykins**](http://marksykins.livejournal.com/), whose Harry I adore, and whom I fangirl shamelessly. This is not a happy fic, and I feel a little bad about giving you something so unhappy as a pressie, but since I know you like darker fics, I’m hoping you’ll see it as me catering to your taste. Yeah. Anyway, I suppose I should warn for passing mention of character death. Thanks ever so much to Kate, who is an extraordinary beta and an even better friend.

I felt bad for this being so intense, so I also wrote Woobie-fluff [here](http://www.livejournal.com/users/magicofisis/47026.html).  


* * *

You were never supposed to live.

According to the Dark Lord’s grand plan, you should have died before you knew how to speak. The Dark Lord was supposed to reign supreme, with you nothing more than another in a long line of obstacles that were overcome in his insatiable quest for power. As one of his most loyal and shrewdest followers, Father would be exalted along side of the Dark Lord, placing the Malfoy name among the most revered and notorious in modern wizarding history.

But you had to ruin everything by living, and the Dark Lord vanished into thin air – a mere whisper of his former greatness. While you were written up in the history books as a hero, we Malfoys were scrambling to convince everyone of our innocence. It was only Father’s many connections and Mother’s extraordinary acting skills that kept them from receiving a one-way ticket to Azkaban. It was all your fault. And Father was determined to make you pay for ruining everything.

~*~

You were never supposed to reject my friendship.

It was all part of Father’s plan, you see. He knew that there was something about you that Dumbledore wanted and that the Dark Lord feared, so he schemed to win you over to the Dark Side. Father has always been ambitious and clever, and he constantly blurred the lines between good and evil, dark and light, so that no one was ever certain where his loyalties lay. It was astonishingly easy for him to ingratiate himself into the Ministry and have himself named as a school governor – avarice is equally powerful on either side of the political fence, and he had plenty of money to turn their heads.

All I had to do was make you my friend. But when I introduced myself on the Hogwarts Express, you refused to shake my hand. I was stunned: no one had ever rejected my friendship before. It was unfathomable that you, a skinny little kid wearing tacky Muggle clothes that were at least four sizes too big, would think yourself too good to be my friend – you might be famous, but I was a Malfoy. Nothing could hide my embarrassment and humiliation as I stormed out of the carriage with my ever-obedient lap dogs following close behind me. I was fortunate that they were too thick to figure out what I crushing blow I’d just received to my ego.

To say that Father was not happy is an understatement. For several weeks, I didn’t have the guts to tell him that I’d failed. When I did, he neither beat me nor yelled at me, as I had expected. Instead, he dealt me the most excruciating punishment I could ever imagine. “Draco,” he said, “I’m extremely disappointed in you.”

I hated you for making me disappoint Father. I hated you and your arrogance for thinking that you were somehow better than everyone else – better than me. I hated it that other kids looked up to you as some kind of hero, while the only ones who paid me any mind were those who understood the prominence of the pureblood Malfoy name. Now _I_ was going to do everything in _my_ power to make you pay.

~*~

You were never supposed to survive our second year at Hogwarts.

Father had tipped me off that something was in the works to cause mayhem at Hogwarts, and that if we were very lucky, it would result in your expulsion. It was infuriating to be kept in the dark, but as soon as Muggleborns started turning up petrified, I immediately realized that it was for my own good. We dueled, and I won of course, and having you revealed as a parselmouth only served to fuel the suspicion that you were behind the attacks. I knew better, but I wasn’t about to say anything, particularly after you flaunted your Quidditch win, humiliating me once again.

When I learned what you’d done in the Chamber of Secrets, I was astounded. You should never have survived an encounter with a basilisk - no one ever had, except for the Dark Lord. Father had been so certain that it would be the end of Dumbledore’s reign at the school, and the end of your life, that he’d shown up, ready to gloat. Imagine his surprise at seeing you alive and once again, a hero. Father’s ire was stirred up for weeks. He may have wanted you to pay for what you’d done to the Dark Lord as a baby, but after you’d made him free our house-elf, he wanted nothing less than your life.

~*~

You were never supposed to get away with so much.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that you ruined my life just by living, you continued to get special treatment from the Hogwarts’ teachers time and again. It was so blatantly unfair, but there didn’t seem to be any point to complaining about it except to the one teacher you thoroughly despised: Professor Snape. He confessed that there was very little he could do about the injustice, except when you committed some infraction in his sight. I took great pleasure in watching him dole out punishments for questionable violations, if for no other reason than to see the indignant expression on your face.

I thought I really had one on you when I discovered you quite by accident in Hogsmeade, up by the Shrieking Shack. You thought you were so clever taking the piss out of Crabbe and Goyle and me; you didn’t count on the fact that your invisibility cloak might fall off and I’d see you. But see you I did. I nearly keeled over from the stitch in my side as I ran back to Hogwarts to tell Snape, hoping that he could catch you red-handed. I was devastated when I learned that you’d earned nothing more than a scolding.

I still had one chance left to humble you that year – Slytherin was playing Gryffindor for the Quidditch Cup. You’d already lost one match by falling off your broom, so I knew I had a chance. It was most unfortunate that Father wasn’t willing to upgrade the Slytherin broomsticks to Firebolts; he could be very frustrating at times. We had our closest match ever, and I was only inches from catching the Snitch when you came from out of nowhere and pushed my arm away. I was furious, of course, at having had the Cup snatched away after being so close.

Later, I reviewed the match in my head. I marveled at how you were able to travel such a great distance, take a dive at that high speed, catch the Snitch and come out of that dive unscathed. I still hated you, but you’d definitely earned my respect for your Quidditch prowess.

~*~

You were never supposed to tell anyone about the Dark Lord’s return.

All during fourth year, you and I continued our feud, despite the fact that there was no Quidditch Cup. It was unbelievable to me that you would go to such extremes to attract even more attention to yourself by illegally entering the Tri-Wizard Tournament. So I decided to help you out by seeing to it that you got the sort of publicity you deserved; Rita Skeeter was quite anxious to hear all about you. I don’t think you appreciated my “Potter Stinks” badges very much, but I thought they were a laugh. Your head got so big that even the Weasel couldn’t stand to be around you half the time.

Really, if any other fourth year student had done as well in the Tournament, I’d have been very impressed. As it was, it was annoying that you managed not to get yourself killed. I was infuriated when it looked as if you’d won the whole damn Tournament, but I was just as stunned as everyone else when I heard you’d disappeared for a couple of hours only to return clutching the corpse of your rival, Cedric Diggory.

It wasn’t until after I went home for the summer holidays that I learned what had happened. Father was on edge the moment I arrived, but he refused to tell me why.

I’d discovered sex the previous term and had invited Adrian Pucey to the manor for an afternoon tryst. As we passed Father’s study, we heard him talking to someone, and Adrian convinced me to stop and listen at the door. Father was telling his visitor about the Dark Lord’s return and plotting ways to kill you since the Dark Lord had been unable to do so when he’d had the chance. After waiting to kill you for years, Father was extremely agitated that the Dark Lord had ordered them to do nothing when there had been a chance for a clear shot at you. And now you’d made things very difficult for the Death Eaters by telling Dumbledore of the Dark Lord’s return right away.

I was astounded after hearing Father’s description of what happened the evening of the Tri-Wizard final task. To have somehow survived Avada Kedavra as a baby was certainly a mystery, but I’d never heard of anyone surviving a duel with the Dark Lord. I knew right then that you were no ordinary wizard.

~*~

You were never supposed to humiliate Lucius Malfoy.

I finally thought I had the upper hand when you started going around the twist during our fifth year. They quoted you in the paper saying all sorts of crazy things, and you were acting so unstable that you got yourself put in detention more often than not.

Anyone would have to be blind not to see how much you hated Professor Umbridge, and I knew right away that she’d be my ally in getting you kicked out of Hogwarts. I took great satisfaction in getting you thrown off the Quidditch team – although unfortunately, not until after you’d kicked my arse again. Umbridge was like my own personal torture device. All I had to do was tell her what mischief you were up to, and she’d see to it that you got punished. I talked her into giving me a privileged position by leading a group of Slytherins to act as ears and eyes for her. In exchange, she let us dole out the punishments we’d felt our fellow students had deserved for years.

I still don’t understand how that situation backfired. We’d gotten you trapped in Umbridge’s office with enough evidence to get you kicked out of school, and the next thing I knew, that witch, the Weaselette, hit me with a Bat Bogey curse that left me in the hospital wing for a day and a half.

A letter was waiting for me in my dormitory when I got out of the hospital wing. Mother had written to tell me that Father had been implicated in some nasty business at the Ministry of Magic involving you, and he was being sent to Azkaban Prison. My world shattered. I knew it was all your doing. And you were going to pay with your life.

Near the end of the term, you made some smartarse comment about Father landing in prison. I nearly broke your evil little neck right there, except that Snape happened by and saved you. You’d always been a lucky bastard.

~*~

You should never have started the war.

Things were very different from the moment I returned home for the summer holidays. Mother was on edge all the time, which was probably the result of Father’s business associates constantly pestering her.

I’d been home for only two weeks when the Dark Lord, himself, called at the manor. I’d never seen him before. Mother was clearly terrified of him. I was more disgusted than anything else, though I tried to hide it for my own safety. It turned out to be me he wished to see. He made a great production out of telling me how disappointed he was that Father had failed in his mission, and how Father was no longer of use to him now that his connection to the Dark Lord had been revealed.

This infuriated me: Father would never have been caught in the first place had he not followed the Dark Lord’s orders to retrieve something from the Ministry. Stupidly, I said, “With all due respect, my Lord, you can’t let my father rot in Azkaban Prison. He’s no good to you there.”

My outburst must have surprised him, because he turned to me with a half-smile and stared at me, seeming to read my mind. “I can see how much you hate the Potter boy,” he said slowly, “and how much you want your father out of prison. Perhaps we can work out an arrangement.”

I was wary; the Dark Lord did not bargain with people – Father had told me that many times. He liked to order things to be done in such a way that people thought he was bargaining, but in the end, he gave up nothing. “What sort of an arrangement, sir?”

“You kill Potter, as I know you wish to do, and I will erase your father’s transgressions in my sight and arrange for his release. Then, as a reward for a job well done, I shall allow you to take my Mark and ensure that you have an unending supply of pretty boys to play with.”

I hardly knew what to say. I was being charged with killing you in order to free my father from prison. It was one thing to dwell on revenge, but quite another to have the Dark Lord command it. And knowing how you always managed to beat me, I wasn’t at all convinced that I would succeed.

I tried to sound more confident than I felt. “Of course, my Lord, it would give me great pleasure to kill Potter, even more so knowing that it would please you and help my father. But Potter is very well protected at Hogwarts – it might be many months before I get the opportunity to follow through. And meanwhile, Father will be stuck there.”

“So be it,” he replied, his creepy red eyes narrowed to slits. “He was well aware of the penalty of failure.”

I was summarily dismissed and left to ponder the situation. I didn’t like the way the Dark Lord had abandoned Father after his years of loyal service; I despised his willingness to let Father rot in Azkaban as punishment for failing to kill you – especially since the Dark Lord hadn’t been able to kill you, either. Imagine him giving me the “privilege” of taking the Dark Mark – like it would be such a treat to run around doing his bidding. (Although, the unending supply of lovers did sound appealing.) Knowing that failure would probably get me sent to Azkaban, with no guarantee that the Dark Lord would see fit to help me escape, I was not very enthusiastic to get involved in this task.

Once back at school for sixth year, I followed you about, looking for an opportunity to finish you off. But I’d been quite truthful when I’d told the Dark Lord that you were well protected. Ironically, it was Snape who always seemed to be the one to show up at the odd times when I might have had a chance to kill you without witnesses. Whether he knew what I was planning or he was watching you himself, it was hard to say.

I began to hear strange things from my housemates – scary things that pointed to the Dark Lord’s insanity. Like me, several of them had been approached to kill you, but they’d not yet had an opportunity. Others had relatives who had been Death Eaters from before – during the first war – and those relatives had recently been tortured at the hand of the Dark Lord for their transgressions. Nott told me that his uncle had been subjected to Cruciatus repeatedly for some bad information he’d passed on, and Pritchard’s mum had been held captive for months because the Dark Lord no longer trusted her loyalty. Despite how anxious I was for Father to be at home, I wondered if he wasn’t safer in Azkaban.

Meanwhile, you were showing signs of stress – somehow knowing that there were a number of us looking to do you in – and you carefully denied us any opportunity of catching you at a vulnerable moment. This did not keep you from trouncing me at Quidditch once again, which strengthened my resolve against you. Rumors were flying that you were a loner, especially now that the Weasel and the Mudblood had taken up together. You did seem to spend an extraordinary amount of time in the library, and it was remarkable how few detentions you served.

Professor Snape called me into his office just prior to the Easter holidays. I’d not been planning to go home, thinking I could get a clear shot at you with fewer people around. Snape told me that Father had been released and that he wanted me home. I was relieved – the pressure to kill you was relieved. I still wanted you dead, but I’d come to the conclusion that I wasn’t willing to put myself at risk in order to do it.

Seeing Father for the first time in over a year, I immediately confided in him my plans for you. He seemed pleased that I was taking the initiative, and he impressed upon me how important it was to please the Dark Lord. After a short while, though, he started to talk nonsense, peppering his speech with incoherent phrases and making mad faces. I left the room and raced through the house to find Mother.

“What’s the matter with Father?” I demanded before I even had a chance to look at her. Her complexion was alabaster, and for the first time, I noticed worry lines on her otherwise flawless face. “They tortured him at Azkaban, didn’t they?”

Mother put a graceful hand on my cheek. “Draco, darling, your father was weak but sane when he returned home. But the Dark Lord was not pleased with his failure. It’s been… difficult.” She was unable to speak any longer, and her hand began to shake against my cheek.

I laid awake a long time that night, thinking long and hard about pledging my allegiance to a wizard who would torture my father, a loyal follower, to the point of madness. Perhaps he, himself, was mad, and therefore, he couldn’t see it. Either way, I was less enthusiastic than ever to join the ranks of the illustrious Death Eaters.

~*~

You were never supposed to be like me.

I don’t know how I could have missed it before, but when you returned to Hogwarts for our final year, you’d become the sort of boy about whom other boys could endlessly fantasize. You’d finally grown into your body, carrying yourself with confidence and poise. For the first time, you seemed as comfortable on the ground as you did on the Quidditch pitch. I wanted you, in spite of myself.

I was virtually estranged from my family now, having rejected their orders to join the cause of a raving lunatic. I couldn’t understand why Father didn’t see that nothing good would come out of a pledge of lifetime service to a monster – one who didn’t give a second thought to torturing a faithful servant when they made an honest mistake. The Mudbloods undoubtedly deserved their fate, but I was all about saving my own skin, and I certainly didn’t want it marred by an ugly tattoo that marked me as another’s property.

Of course, it was difficult to convince you that I was neutral. I kept seeking you out so that you could get to know me better and learn that, during our six years at school, I’d grown up, too. But we’d always end up arguing about who was on what side, what my motives were and how I was wrong not to give a shit about the war. I told you that I wasn’t a pacifist, but a realist, and that I didn’t see any advantage to being on one side or the other. You told me I was selfish, and I agreed.

We must have argued a dozen times before I confessed that my only motivation was to get you into my bed. I’ll never forget your stunned silence after I said that, or the sparkle in your eye as you leaned over to kiss me. I could have kicked myself then – after all that arguing, all it took was a little bit of honesty. It was an approach that had never occurred to me, but it didn’t matter now that I knew you were bent like me.

~*~

You were never supposed to make me fall for you.

It was only supposed to be about sex. We seemed to be in agreement on that point right from the start. I was bored and you needed relief from your tiresome and stressful life. You were a virgin and I was not, but we learned many new things together, and you constantly surprised me with your inventiveness and enthusiasm. I was in love with the sex – I could readily admit that. You needed only to give me the sign, and I would happily break away from whatever I was doing to be with you.

We kept our relationship to ourselves. You didn’t want to have to explain yourself to Weasel and the Mudblood, and you were tired of living your life in a fishbowl. I didn’t want any of my housemates to know how close we’d become because I feared their Death Eater parents would find out and tell the Dark Lord, who would punish Father for not controlling me better.

I’d never intended to tell you how much I cared about you – how you managed to become so much more important to me than great sex – but I let it slip one night during the Christmas holidays. We’d both stayed at Hogwarts and were fooling around in my room, and you kept me hovering on the brink of orgasm for what seemed like an eternity. You’d never done that before, and by the time you gave in to my pleading and told me to let go, I was ready to faint with pleasure. It was like a religious experience and it took forever for me to come back down to earth. The words must have tumbled out of my mouth before I realized it – I don’t even remember speaking. But the next thing I knew, you were kissing me and whispering, “God, I love you, too, Draco.” Just to hear you say that made my heart skip a beat, so I knew it must be true.

We spent hours together talking about things that we swore we’d never tell another soul. You told me that the reason you rejected my friendship that first day at Hogwarts was because I reminded you of your nasty Muggle cousin. I told you I forgave you because I was only being nice to you on Father’s orders. You told me about the horrors of seeing death up close, about your experiences with the Dark Lord and the prophecy that had got Father sent to Azkaban. I told you about my stoic family, about my loneliness and the horrors of being a Death Eater’s son who wouldn’t tow the line. We frequently disagreed, but that was to be expected.

When you told me that you were the only one who could kill the Dark Lord, I started caring about the war again. But that was because I couldn’t bear to think of my life without you in it. Now, there was no question which side I was on.

~*~

You never wanted to battle the Dark Lord.

You knew you’d have to face him eventually - it was prophesied, after all. But every time I brought up the possibility that you’d have to do it soon, you changed the subject. It was a burden you bore grudgingly, and there was nothing I could do to ease it.

On the day they came for you, there was dread in your heart and terror in your eyes. You lingered as we kissed goodbye, saying nothing with your voice, but everything with your lips. I was just as frightened as you were, but I couldn’t say it – couldn’t let you know that I had anything less than one hundred percent confidence that you’d succeed in your task and come back home to me.

You hated them for making you do it, but you went just the same. It was your destiny. And when you finally came face to face with the madman that had tormented you since birth, you cast a killing curse that echoed through the wizarding world – a voice of freedom to all those who lived in terror at the Dark Lord’s hand. But you had no idea that the curse that killed Voldemort would kill you as well, and that two little words would shatter my world into a million worthless pieces.

You were never supposed to die.


End file.
